a project of skill-less and dead-author labor turned dead-text turned dead-reader, love
affair with space, some cloud to influx information without regard for human eyes. &poetry
Saturday, January 19, 2019
somewhere in the notes of a shut country
make me entry
make me entry
make me entry
the left hand is cold with comfort
the right burns hot without regret
a course we took, when we were young
and i can feel it in my bones.
my bones on your bones.
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